


There's nothing like summer in the city

by PixelByPixel



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Blood, Broken Bones, Friends to Lovers, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt Matt Murdock, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Stitches, Unconsciousness, Whump, whumptober2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-07 21:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20982893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixelByPixel/pseuds/PixelByPixel
Summary: Matt Murdock is in a dumpster again. Just another day in Hell's Kitchen, right? And Frank Castle? He just wants to get some sleep.





	There's nothing like summer in the city

**Author's Note:**

  * For [titC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/titC/gifts).

> A while ago, I promised [titC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/titC) a whump fic, and what better time than [Whumptober](https://whumptober2019.tumblr.com/) to make that happen? This is my first intentional whump fic (sometimes it just... happens, you know?), so I used [this post](https://pixelbypixelfanfic.tumblr.com/post/186494510929/good-types-of-tropes-for-hc) for inspiration. Of the 25 tropes in the post, I think I managed 16, but I had Curtis explain why I didn't want to do another, so I think it should totally count. ;-) I'm counting it as filling the Whumptober prompt "unconscious." This also fills my Daredevilbingo square "down but not out".

_A month and a half._

Madi Ramírez tried not to groan as she opened the door to the alley, garbage bag in hand. Hell’s Kitchen was living up to its name, and the July heat all but knocked her over. She used her hip to nudge the door closed behind her and made her way over to the dumpster.

_A month and a half and I won’t be living in the Kitchen._

There wasn’t any money for college; Madi knew that. But her papi’s sister had moved out to the sticks and said she’d let Madi rent a room for cheap; maybe she could save up and go to a community college there. It would be cheaper than Columbia or NYU. Madi had gotten into both, but even with scholarships, it was still too expensive. Madi hadn’t even shown Papi the acceptance letters, but she had them tucked away in a drawer just in case she won the lottery.

It wasn’t that Madi wanted to leave the city. She’d lived there all her life, and her heart broke a little at the thought of being anywhere else. But she knew, even as much as she loved her papi, that she wasn’t going to wait tables at his restaurant for the rest of her life. She wanted to do more; for that, she needed an education, one she couldn’t get if she stayed.

Madi had years of experience working in her papi’s restaurant, so she figured she could get a job in a restaurant near her tía’s place until she could afford some college. But Tía Inez couldn’t take her until September, so Madi was working as many hours as she could, saving as much as possible.

She hoped it was cooler at Tía Inez’s. She pulled her shirt away from her stomach and felt it peel away from her skin, already damp with sweat. Gross.

Glad that the dumpster was already open and she didn’t have to touch the lid, which was always disgusting, she hefted the bag, leaned close to toss it in, and then bit back a shriek.

There was a white guy in the dumpster. He was wearing beat-up black clothes - long sleeves! - and had what looked like a wool hat pulled over half of his face - in freaking July. Maybe he had brought out his own trash, passed out in the heat, and fallen into the dumpster.

But, no, it looked like there was blood on his face, besides whatever ick had gotten on him from the dumpster. Plus, Madi knew everybody who might use the dumpster, and she didn’t recognize this guy, at least what she could see of him.

Madi reached for his hat, thinking maybe he’d be cooler without it, but he moved quick as lightning and grabbed her arm, and this time she _did_ scream. He hadn’t even opened his eyes!

He mumbled something that sounded like “foggy” and let her go; Madi took a step back, trying not to freak out. Foggy? She looked around. No, still sunny. And the guy wasn't moving anymore.

Papi must have heard her because he came out of the restaurant like he was being chased. “You okay?”

“Yeah, but…” Madi waved toward the dumpster.

Papi looked inside and said a word he probably didn’t think Madi used. (She did, just not when he was around. She wanted to let him keep his illusions that she was still a kid.)

“He’s alive,” Madi said.

Papi exhaled, sounding relieved. “Go quick and see if Mrs. Lee is home. She used to be a nurse, remember?”

Madi nodded. Mrs. Lee had been a nurse, but now she was old and watched her grandbabies during the day. They were asleep, and thank goodness Madi didn’t wake them when she knocked because Mrs. Lee never would have let her hear the end of it if she had, and then Mrs. Lee came to look at the dumpster guy.

“He’s been shot,” she said, and everybody got real quiet. (Of course, people had come to snoop when they heard something was going on. That was how it always was; stuff was always everybody’s business, whether you wanted it to be or not.)

“Should we call somebody?” Madi asked.

Papi was already shaking his head, and Mrs. Lee said, “Get him inside. He’s okay to move, or at least it can’t be worse than him staying in there. Your place is closest, Mando.”

Madi took note of the fact that nobody had answered her question, and she wasn’t surprised. Some guy gets shot and ends up in your dumpster, you don’t call the cops. They’d be more likely to blame you than to help, and then start talking about who was legal.

Madi was. She’d been born right there in New York. Papi never talked about how he and Tía Inez had come to the US, but every month he sent money to family back home. Madi figured maybe it was better not to know the details.

While Papi went to find Pablo the cook to help him move the dumpster guy into the apartment over the restaurant, Madi got to thinking. Mrs. Lee still knew all her nursing stuff, but she wouldn’t have much more than Band-Aids at her place. When a guy got shot, he needed medicine and probably stitches. The Duane Reade four blocks down probably had at least some of what they would need but not everything; they’d probably have to have a prescription to get strong enough drugs, so that was out.

Madi knew somebody who might be able to help. Better to take care of it right away, before Papi told her to do something else. She slipped out of the alley and down the street to where Pete the handyman lived. He’d fixed some things at the restaurant for cheap, and he was quiet and hadn’t made a fuss about waiting an extra day to get paid when the restaurant had a bad day. Madi had been the one to take him his money, and she had seen the vest with the skull before Pete had closed the door.

She knew that Pete the handyman was The Punisher. Even though he killed all those people, they were bad guys, and he was nice whenever he came to the restaurant. Quiet. He smiled at Madi, but not in a creepy way; he seemed kind of sad when he watched her. And he gave her good tips whenever he ate at the restaurant, even though he looked like he didn’t have a lot of money, either.

He’d know how to get supplies to help the dumpster guy, right? Madi was pretty sure the Punisher didn’t go to hospitals, even though he probably got hurt sometimes, being around all those guns and bad guys.

It wasn’t until she was knocking on the door that it occurred to her that letting Pete know she knew his identity might not be the best of ideas, but she didn’t know what else to do. She didn’t want the dumpster guy to die; she definitely didn’t want anybody to call the cops, that was for sure.

* * *

Frank Castle pulled the pillow more firmly over his head to try and drown out the sounds of someone knocking on his door. He wasn't working his day job, and he wanted to take advantage of that.

The knocking stopped; he relaxed, almost managing to get back to sleep before the noise started again.

“… help.”

And, really, Frank would have been all set to ignore that voice and go back to sleep, but it sounded like a kid.

Shit.

He hauled himself out of bed and opened the door a crack and, sure enough, it was the kid from the restaurant two doors down. “What?”

“We need help. There’s a man; he’s hurt.”

Frank heaved a sigh. Kids in trouble, that he couldn’t say no to, but some guy? “I’m not a doctor.”

“Please. We don’t want to call the cops.” She gave him what felt like it was supposed to be a meaningful look, and Frank nodded. He got it.

“I’m just not sure what you want me to do, kid.”

“Mrs. Lee is with him, but she’s going to need bandages and medicine and stuff. The guy got shot.”

Frank shook his head and tried to rub some of the sleep out of his eyes. “I’m sorry, kid. I don’t have any stuff like that.” He had, in fact, burned through the last of his supplies the previous night, patching himself up after the job that had kept him out so late.

The kid looked scared. “But you could get some, right?” Frank started to shake his head, and the girl stepped forward. “Please, Mr. Castle?”

Shit.

Frank pulled on his confused face, not too hard considering he was still half-asleep. “My last name’s Castiglione.”

The kid rolled her eyes, all nervous bravado. “I saw your vest when I brought your money. I watch the news. I know who you are.” She peered down at her feet and then back at Frank, looking terrified but determined and, hell, he only knew her from seeing her at the restaurant, but he was proud of her. “I won’t tell who you are. I promise. But this guy, the one in our dumpster, he’s got a mask over his face.” She traced a line under her nose. “We can’t take him to a hospital. We can’t call the cops. And he can’t die in my apartment. So will you help us, _please_?”

Frank closed his eyes. Considering that New York was vigilante central, there were a few options for who this guy could be, but Frank had his suspicions.

He sighed. “What’s your name again?”

“Madi. Well, Magdalena, really, but everybody calls me Madi. Ramírez.”

“How old are you?”

“Almost eighteen.”

Older than Lisa would have been. That was how he always figured things now: the calculus of his life. Lisa would have been in this grade. Frankie would have moved up in Little League. He didn’t even try not to, not anymore.

“Almost eighteen is old enough to know better than to go asking somebody like me for help.”

She shrugged. “You’re not going to hurt me,” she said, all naive confidence, except she was right. Of course, he wouldn’t hurt her. But he still almost asked her, _How do you know?_

The kid stood there in his doorway, looking nothing like his girl except her hopeful expression, and Frank knew he couldn’t say no. He made sure he’d put away the freaking vest this time, and then nodded.

“Okay, let’s go.”

The kid had the grace not to look smug as she led the way to the alley behind her dad’s restaurant. The folks there were still working on getting the guy out of the dumpster. It felt like half the neighborhood was there offering advice.

“Madi, where have you been?” That was her dad. Mando, that was his name. He was a good guy, and Frank didn’t blame him for the wary look he got. Hell, he’d look wary, too, if a grown man was following his daughter.

Or he would have.

“Getting Pete,” Madi replied. “He can help you pull the guy out of the dumpster.”

Frank leaned against the dumpster and peered in, and sure enough, he was right. Shit. Shit. Red did not look good: he was paler than Frank had ever seen him and disturbingly still. He scrambled into the dumpster, ignoring a quiet sound of disgust from one of the kids, and fumbled at Red’s throat.

“Come on, come on,” Frank muttered. He couldn’t face the thought that Red might be dead. He just couldn’t… oh. There it was. Weak and irregular, but there: Red’s pulse.

“He’s alive,” he reported, but his words were met mostly with resignation. Red, for these folks, was a problem to be solved. Nothing new there. “We can take him to my place,” he suggested.

_Wait, what?_ Why had he said that?

But, no, once they got him out of that dumpster, people would be wanting to take off that thing on his head, and Frank knew Red wouldn’t want that. Better that Frank take him, so that wouldn’t be an issue.

The response from the crowd was one of relief, and Frank guessed he didn’t blame them. Once they got Red out of the dumpster, with swearing in three languages and at least two pairs of shoes that were never going to recover, Mrs. Lee gave Red a once-over. The fact that he didn’t move through any of it made Frank frown.

She didn’t touch Red’s mask and waved away the neighborhood kid who tried to take it off. “If he’s a good guy, we want to keep his secret. If he’s a bad guy, we don’t want to know who he is.” Mando Ramírez looked a little dubious about that, but stayed quiet as Mrs. Lee continued, “The bleeding isn’t too bad, but he needs to be cleaned up and then get some stitches.” She eyed Frank dubiously. “You’re the guy who replaced the counter in the restaurant, right?”

Frank nodded. “I have a friend who can do stitches, used to be a medic. Let’s get him to my place. I can take it from there.” He knew Mrs. Lee watched her grandkids during the day and figured she probably would want to get back to them. Red wasn't going to get better by lying there in the alley. 

And he _was_ going to get better. 

* * *

Getting Red up the stairs was a nightmare of people trying to figure out which way to go until Frank just thought _fuck it_ and picked Red up in a fireman’s carry, ignoring the twist of pain along his side. He tried not to think about the way Red didn’t move, how it was like carrying a corpse. Red was _alive_ and Frank would make sure he stayed that way.

Madi scrambled ahead to get the door and then everybody left, their gratitude obvious.

Red, sprawled unconscious in Frank’s chair, expressed no gratitude, but Frank hadn’t expected any. No, Red would probably be annoyed if - _when_ \- he woke up.

Frank made a quick call to Curtis and then considered Red. He’d been in the dumpster long enough for his clothes to get saturated with things Frank didn’t want to think too hard about. His chair already had some dumpster sludge on it, and Frank definitely didn’t want his bed to suffer the same fate, but he was pretty sure Curtis was going to need Red more stretched out than he could get in that chair.

He pulled off Red’s mask, both relieved and concerned that Red didn’t move; at least it didn’t get him punched. From the size of the bruise forming on the side of Red’s head, he’d either hit it or been hit. Frank dropped the mask, irritated. A helmet, that was what Red needed. Frowning a little, he brushed Red’s hair away from his eyes and then frowned and pressed his palm to Matt’s forehead, trying not to remember that time when Frankie’d been so sick with pneumonia.

“You’re burning up, Red,” he murmured, though he got no answer. So a gunshot wound, a head injury, and a fever. Great.

Getting the shirt over Red’s head seemed like too much of a challenge, so Frank found his scissors and cut the shirt off. It was already pretty ragged; he had just decided to get Red a new one if he bitched when he saw…

Fuck. The scars were… shit. Frank hadn’t realized there were so many. And then there was the bullet wound, still oozing blood. He bent down to pull off Red’s boots and then decided that he’d deal with the pants later if need be. He found Red’s phone in a pocket and tucked it onto the small table between the chair and the bed.

The damage had already been done to Frank’s chair, anyway; it was never going to smell the same. He ducked into the bathroom to dampen a washcloth and then came back to clean off the worst of the mess from Red’s hands and neck. The mask and the angle Red had fallen into the dumpster had kept most of his face clean, but Frank carefully wiped away the spot along his jaw, and another there on his side where his shirt must have come up. He avoided the area around the wound, but he must not have been careful enough, as Red jolted awake and Frank had to move quickly to keep him from falling out of the chair. His hands closed around Frank’s arm in a grip that seemed too weak for the Red Frank knew, and his head turned back and forth, his eyes wide. Despite Red’s obvious panic, the fact that he was awake eased some of the tightness in Frank’s chest.

“Where?” Red managed, the word made hard to understand by his gasping breaths.

“Shh,” Frank reassured, his voice taking on that gentle tone he’d used when Frankie had woken up with a nightmare again. “You’re okay, I got you. It’s Frank. You got hurt and my neighbors found you. You’re at my place.”

“Frank?” Red repeated, sounding perplexed. He ran a hand along Frank’s arm then added, “Castle?”

“Yeah, Red. It’s me.”

Red seemed to relax a little, maybe at the use of the nickname; he eased back in the chair, and Frank went back to his work with the washcloth.

“What happened?” Red asked, and Frank did not like the threadiness in his voice.

“I don’t know,” Frank replied, grabbing a towel and patting Red dry. “You got shot, ended up in a dumpster, and I’ll bet scared the shit out of a perfectly nice kid.”

“Shot. That explains the pain.” Red inhaled sharply and tried to feel for the wound, then made a startled sound when Frank caught at his hands, though he didn’t pull away.

“You’re a mess,” Frank explained as he released Red’s hands. “I promise you, there’s a hole there and you don’t need to touch it.”

Red nodded. “I’ll go home. I can -” He tried to sit up, but then fell back with a pained whimper that cut right through Frank.

“Easy,” Frank reassured. “I’ve got a buddy coming who can patch you up, so you don’t get blood on my stairs. We’ll take it from there, okay?” Frank didn’t think Red was going anywhere for a little while, though if anybody was a stubborn enough idiot to try…

Red nodded once more and his eyes sagged closed, but then snapped open once more at the sound of knocking.

“That’s probably just my buddy. Relax.”

Frank peered out the peephole and then opened the door to let in Curtis. “Thanks, man.”

“Oh, huh, I thought it was you I’d be patching up,” Curtis said, looking a little puzzled. “This is…”

“Somebody I know,” Frank replied, deciding to keep both regular and vigilante names out of it. The less Curt knew, the better. Red had closed his eyes again, which helped; a blind gunshot victim was harder to explain. “He got shot and we don’t want to have to answer questions.”

Curtis shrugged. “Tuesday, right?” he quipped. “Can you get him to the bed? That chair doesn’t give me a lot of room.”

Frank knew it. “C’mon, man.” He did take the precaution of tossing down an old blanket over his... okay, not all that much newer comforter.

Red groaned but helped as much as he could when Frank and Curtis transferred him to the bed.

“Your friend’s a little ripe,” Curtis observed as he put down his bag and then stepped to the sink to wash his hands.

“Dumpster.”

“Oh, of course.” Curtis unpacked his supplies, then grimaced as he gave Red a quick exam and surveyed the wound. “Antibiotics I’ve got. I haven’t gotten a chance to restock my painkillers, though. They’re always a little harder to get.”

“Don’t want ’em,” Red muttered. Frank hadn’t known he was alert enough to follow the conversation, but he wasn’t surprised to hear Red turn down painkillers. “Got any Scotch?”

Well, Frank did, but he eyed Curtis before replying.

Curt shrugged. “Can’t hurt.”

Red made a noise that sounded triumphant. Asshole. But Curtis had okayed it, so Frank grabbed the bottle. Would Red even be able to hold it?

Red’s eyes were open when Frank came back with the Scotch and Curtis was starting to look concerned. “Uh, we may have a bigger problem, here.”

“Oh, no, I’m _blind_.” And Red grinned, the little shit.

Frank did not hit him, but he was tempted. “That’s not a new thing,” he told Curtis, who looked even less reassured.

“Someone shot a blind guy? I hate this city.”

“It’s okay. I hit them first.”

“Hey, here’s the Scotch.” Frank sat on the bed next to Red and helped him sit up a bit; Red cooperated as well as he could and knocked back a good amount of the Scotch. Maybe that would shut him up.

“Okay, get back down, Mr., uh. Frank, stay there.”

Frank couldn’t see all of what Curtis was doing but the sharp smell of antiseptic and Red’s sudden tension suggested that he was cleaning the wound.

“Looks like there’s an entry wound but no exit. I’m not going to take the bullet out - could do more harm than good.”

“They always take them out in the movies,” Red observed, sounding hazy.

“Yeah, well the movies don’t show people bleeding out because taking the bullet out was a stupid thing to do when they weren’t in a hospital,” Curtis observed, sounding patient but a little exasperated. “Plus it hurts like a son of a bitch. Stitches are going to be enough fun, trust me.” He leaned back and eyed Red, then said, “You should be in a hospital.”

“No.” Well, Red got that out clearly enough. “If you won’t do it, Maggie will. She’ll say I’m an idiot but then she’ll help me. She always does.”

Maggie, huh? Did Red have a new girlfriend? If she thought he was an idiot, maybe she was a keeper. 

“You _are_ an idiot,” Frank muttered, thinking again of the gear Red should be wearing when he did his vigilante thing.

Curtis, though, had clearly picked up on something else. “Always? You get shot a lot?”

Frank tried to be subtle as he poked Red.

“Ow.” Clearly not subtle enough. Red glared somewhere to Frank’s left, then added, “No.”

Frank relaxed, until Red continued, “Usually it’s knives, or they just hit me. And there was that hook thing, too. That was the worst.”

Either the injury, the alcohol, or some combination of the two had seriously damaged Red’s filter. Amusing, but not great in the long run.

Curtis eyed Frank, his expression suggesting that a Talk was forthcoming, then took up his tools once more.

Frank didn’t watch Curtis work. He kept his eyes on Red, who was suddenly a little less talkative. Partway through, Curtis must have hit a tender spot, as Red winced and grabbed for Frank’s hand, gripping tight.

Huh. That was new. But Frank went with it, shushing Red even though he wasn’t making a sound. “Hey, just breathe. You got this. You’re okay,” he reassured.

“I know,” Red replied through clenched teeth.

“Almost done.” That was Curtis, sounding distracted.

“Hear that, Red? It’s almost over.”

Red mumbled something vague and annoyed, but he squeezed Frank’s hand a little harder.

Frank heard the sound of Curtis snipping the thread or whatever it was he was using, and Red let go of his hand, looking embarrassed.

“Sorry.”

“No problem.”

Wasn’t like it was the first time he’d held somebody’s hand while they were hurting. He hadn't hated it, holding Red's hand.

Curt eyed the bump on Red’s head and then asked him a few questions about symptoms. “Looks like no concussion,” he concluded. He pressed lightly against a blooming bruise on Red’s side and nodded when he grimaced in pain. “Got a cracked rib there, probably. Can’t do a lot for that, but the rest… No chance I can get you to go to a hospital?”

Red shook his head. “Thanks for your help, but no.”

“You really should get some IV antibiotics, but if you’re half as stubborn as Frank, here -”

“Hey,” Frank protested, while Red smirked.

“- then I don’t stand a chance. I can give you a shot and some pills and you can see how it goes, but I don’t have the setup to do an IV here.” Curtis eyed Red, then added, “And I’m not sure I trust you not to take it out.”

Red didn’t deny it, and Curtis shook his head. He dealt with the shot, packed up his stuff, then turned to leave, tipping his head meaningfully at Frank. Frank followed him to the door.

“You know this guy, Frank?”

“Yeah.”

“No, I mean do you know who he is?”

“… yeah.”

“How long?”

“What?”

“How long have you known this guy?”

Frank told him, and Curtis let out a low whistle. “You’ve kept that secret all this time?” Frank made a noise of inquiry, and Curtis said, “You know Daredevil. And he’s blind, damn.”

Before Frank could react, there was a noise from the bed, and both Frank and Curtis turned, startled, to see Red trying to get up, his eyes wild.

“Hey, no,” Frank protested, coming back to try and get Red back on the bed.

“You can’t tell,” Red urged, head turned past Frank.

“It’s okay, man. I won’t.”

“He doesn’t know who you are,” Frank added.

Red subsided, glassy-eyed, and Frank turned back to Curtis.

“How do you know?”

“Last week some kid posted a video of him doing some parkour shit off a roof. It’s gone viral. The outfit’s the same,” he added, gesturing toward the mask and cut-up shirt on Frank’s floor.

Frank glanced at the clothes, then sighed. Parkour shit? “Yeah, sounds like him. Hear that, Red?” he added, raising his voice. “There’s the excuse you need to get a new outfit, so people won’t recognize you. Maybe some Kevlar in this one?”

Red made a vague sound of annoyance as his eyes sank shut.

“I won’t tell,” Curtis repeated. “Let him know that when he’s a little more… himself.”

Frank reflected that injured and passed out was about as _himself_ as it got with Red. “Will do.”

“Here’s some pills. Give him the first one when he wakes up, then every eight hours. If you can get him to eat, it’ll be easier on his stomach.”

Frank eyed Red. “He’s going to want to get up, go home.”

“He got someone at home to keep an eye on him?” Frank shook his head, and Curtis, after a moment of hesitation, asked, “What’s this guy to you, Frank?”

It took Frank a moment to come up with an answer. Time was, he would have said he didn’t give a shit what happened to Red. But Red had shown up a few times when Frank had ended up in a tight spot - just happened to be there, he’d said, which Frank didn’t believe for an instant. And since Red’s girl had died - again - Frank had found himself getting the occasional beer with him. Red would call or text and they’d go meet up at some dive bar Red knew. They didn’t talk about their losses, but they still shared them and being together, even if it was usually in silence, had become a comfort to Frank. Hell of a reason to spend time with somebody, but Frank had found himself looking forward to their meetings. Funny thing.

“I don’t know,” Frank said finally. “But I’ll keep an eye on him if I can get him to stay.”

“Might want to chain him to something,” Curtis observed dryly.

“Yeah, been there, done that.”

That got him a double-take, which Frank met with a deadpan look that no doubt left Curt wondering.

“O… kay, I’m going to clear out. Give me a call if anything seems off.”

“Will do. Thanks, man.”

Frank locked the door behind Curtis and then turned back to Red, scooping up his discarded shirt and mask and shoving them in a drawer. No sense leaving them around for anybody else to see; hopefully, Red wouldn’t be too pissed off about it when he was thinking clearly. Curtis was a good guy, though. He wouldn’t tell.

Frank settled in his chair to watch over Red, though it didn’t take long before his own head was nodding. The previous night had been a long one, and Frank hadn’t been sleeping well lately. The anniversary of that day at the carousel was approaching, and the memories loomed over him, jolting him awake in the wee hours of the morning.

Of course, now that he had a reason to stay awake his body had decided that it was nap time. Wasn’t that always the way? Frank reached over to his shelf and pulled out a book, something a neighbor had given him that she’d said was really good. Frank couldn’t get into it though; he felt too twitchy having someone else in his place, even a semi-conscious someone, even someone that, okay, he trusted. He set the book aside, then looked over to see Red’s eyes open.

“Hey, you’re up.”

“If you could call it that.”

“Curt said to give you a pill when you woke up. Lemme get some water.”

Frank grabbed a glass and filled it, though Red was still looking pretty flattened when he returned. He settled onto the edge of the bed; Red seemed set to argue. “What pill? I don’t want any painkillers. They make everything weird.”

“It’s not a painkiller. It’s antibiotics. Sit up so - hm.” Red did not seem like he could manage, so Frank leaned in and helped him sit up, braced him with an arm behind his shoulders, then offered the pill and held the glass while Red drank.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, all but gasping as he sank back against the pillow. “I’ll just catch my breath and then head home.”

“You can’t even sit up. You can’t leave. Am I going to have to tie you to this bed to get you to stay?”

There was a rather charged moment in which Red, even looking like a feather would knock him over, considered the idea; Frank wondered what he had gotten up to with his girl, the one who had died. Whatever they’d done, Frank was pretty sure he knew who had been the boss in that relationship, and it wasn’t Red.

“I’m fine,” Red repeated, and damn if he wasn’t stubborn. He shifted until he was sitting up, the top half of his back supported by the pillow and the wall, and then looked stupidly triumphant.

“Yeah, you sat up. Good for you. But if you try to go home now, you’ll fall over or something, and then your partner will come and sue me, or he’ll make that kicked-puppy face at me.” Frank honestly wasn’t sure which would be worse. More seriously, he added, “And I couldn’t tell Karen that I let you leave in the state you’re in, especially if she’s still carrying that gun.” Frank was pretty sure Karen wouldn’t shoot him. Mostly.

Red looked ready to argue - fucking lawyers - but was brought up short by a knock at the door. Frank pulled the mask out of the drawer and tossed it at Red’s face, enjoying the exasperated response as he moved to peer through the door’s peephole.

It was the kid from the restaurant. Madi. And she was holding a takeout bag. That was promising. Frank hadn't even managed breakfast, and his stomach was commenting on his oversight.

Frank glanced over his shoulder to make sure that Red had the mask on - half-naked and wearing a mask; what a look - then opened the door. “Hey, kid.”

“Hi, Pete,” she replied, emphasizing the name and shooting a quick glance to Red. Her eyes went wide, and Frank wondered if it was the semi-nudity that had freaked her out or the scars. He gave Red a quick look over, but he sure wasn’t looking at him like a teenaged girl would. “Papi sent me up with some soup for the guy, and I brought you a burger and fries since it’s lunchtime.”

“Thanks,” Frank replied. He was all set to take the bag and close the door, but Red said, “Come on in,” like he owned the place.

“Okay. Are you all right? You’re looking… better.” Her tone implied that he didn’t look _much_ better, which was accurate.

Ree’s head tipped to one side, and Frank said, “Madi’s the one who found you in the dumpster.”

“Oh. Well, thanks. Gracias.” Red started talking Spanish to Madi, and Frank only got about one word in five, but the kid brightened right up and replied in kind.

Frank washed his hands, relieved her of the bag, and put Red’s soup in a bowl - easier to handle than the takeout container - then returned to the bedside. “Here, why don’t you eat while you’ve got some better company around.”

“You’re good company,” Red replied, ignoring Frank’s derisive snort, though he took the bowl when Frank pressed it into his hands. Considering that Red had been in a dumpster, Frank also grabbed a bottle of hand sanitizer and handed it over to Red.

“Are you - can you see okay with that mask on?”

“Nice save, and the mask doesn't make a difference.” Red used the hand sanitizer. Frank guessed it was the smell of it that made Red make that face, but at least his hands were clean.

"Why not?"

"Uh. Well, I'm blind."

“And you jump around on roofs like in that YouTube video?” Madi asked, clearly appalled. “No wonder you ended up in the dumpster.”

“… video?” Red asked, his head turning in Frank’s direction.

“Curt mentioned it, too. Uh, roof parkour shit, he said. Hasn’t been out there for very long.”

“Great.”

Madi reached for the takeout bag and handed it to Frank, adding, “Fries are better when they’re hot.”

Frank couldn’t argue with that. He got a couple of plates, put half the fries on one, and handed it to Madi.

Madi cast a sidelong look at Red. “That video was really cool. I’d show you, but, well.”

“Yeah, not much point,” Red agreed, though he smiled when he said it, and Madi relaxed a little. He had a way with kids, with people in general; Frank had noticed that about him and liked it.

“Are you _really_ Daredevil?” He hesitated, and she pressed, “How many superheroes are there around here with that kind of mask?”

Red shrugged. “I am. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t spread it around. And superhero, that’s, uh, not me.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell. And you’re not the only superhero to end up in a dumpster.” Red looked like he was going to protest, and Madi added, “You _are_ a superhero. Some guys were going to beat up my friend Carlos last month, and you stopped them. And you got rid of those drug dealers down the street. You make the Kitchen a better place to live.”

Actually, the drug dealers had been Frank, but who was counting?

The kid sighed, and Frank asked her what was wrong.

“I’m moving soon, and I’m going to miss it here.” She wrinkled her nose a little before adding, “Except the dumpsters.” Madi considered Frank speculatively, then asked, “You guys are… friends?”

Frank wasn’t sure how to answer. They’d been helping each other out from time to time, getting those beers, and Frank had found himself getting kind of fond of Red when he wasn’t being a little shit, but friends? Was that what they were? 

Red poked at his soup. “Yeah. Friends.”

Well. That settled that, though there was something odd about Red’s expression. Maybe he didn’t know how much his face showed.

Madi caught Frank’s eye and mouthed, _Does he know?_ She gestured toward Frank’s chest, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Yeah, he knows who I am.”

Madi looked between Frank and Red. “Is there, like, superhero Tinder?”

What?

“Uh, no,” Red replied, shifting a little on the bed.

“Okay, then some club where you guys all hang out?”

That got Madi a smile. “Only for the _fancy_ superheroes,” Red quipped.

“You mean, like the kind who wear actual helmets on their heads and not, like, a hat for a mask?”

Frank extended a fist toward Madi. She bumped it with her own, grinning.

“You guys are ganging up on me.” Red wasn’t pouting, not really, and sounded more amused than anything else.

“Don’t you like the soup?” Madi asked, taking her ganging up in a slightly different direction.

Red had barely touched it, while Madi and Frank had made short work of their food.

“Curtis said you’re supposed to take those pills with food if you can. Easier on your stomach.”

“Yeah, no, it’s good,” Red replied, though he seemed half-hearted as he took up the spoon.

“Is there something else you’d rather have?” Madi asked. “I didn’t know what you wanted, and I always like this soup when I don’t feel good. My mother used to make it when I was little.”

Red shook his head, his lips pulling up in a small smile. “You don’t have it in your restaurant.”

“Aw, what is it?” Madi wheedled. “I’ll bet we can make it. Pablo’s the best.”

Red hesitated, looking a little embarrassed, and Frank said, “Might as well just tell her, Red. When I was fixing the counter at the restaurant, I saw how she works. She’s a sweet kid, but she’s relentless.”

His Lisa hadn’t needed to be relentless; she’d just had to smile and say, _please, Daddy_, and he’d done whatever she wanted. Well, mostly. Every time except when it had mattered the most.

“It’s stupid,” Red objected.

“Not if it gets you eating.”

“Okay, if Pablo can make Spaghettios, I’ll eat them.”

There was a moment in which Frank and Madi exchanged a look. Big, bad Daredevil and that was what he wanted for lunch? Trying not to laugh, he asked, “Spaghettios?”

“Yeah,” Red replied. “My dad would get them sometimes when I was a kid. When things had been going well and we had a little extra money. It was a treat and I just… it’s stupid.”

Frank carefully didn’t say anything about sodium or cholesterol, only replying, “Well, they probably don’t have them at the restaurant, but I could -”

“Ha, yes, we do,” Madi replied, her tone so triumphant that Frank couldn’t help but grin. “Pablo's daughter Ava is obsessed with them. He hates it, but we’ve got like half a case in the restaurant. I’ll go get some!” She paused, then added, all teasing, “Ava is five, by the way.”

She was out the door before Red could protest, and this time. Frank did laugh. “That little girl got you.” He went to his dresser and pulled out his softest shirt, which he dropped onto Red’s chest. “Here, put that on. I think you scared the kid. And you know you have to eat those Spaghettios now, right?”

“I want to eat them,” Red replied as he tugged on the shirt. “I know it’s dumb. It just reminds me…”

“Of when you were happy, yeah,” Frank concluded. He eyed Red in his shirt. It was a little big, but it suited him. He shook his head, but he knew what Red meant about being reminded. For him, it wasn’t food so much, but sometimes he’d hear a song and remember an afternoon at home, pulling Maria away from the sink, laughing. Dancing with her, telling her to leave the dishes, he’d do them later, and that song playing all the while. How’d it go again? Frank tried, but he couldn’t remember.

“I’m happy now,” Red was saying. Frank must have scoffed because Red shook his head. “I am. Mostly. Well, as much as I ever am. The practice is going well, Foggy is great, and Karen hadn’t shot anybody lately.”

Frank smiled, shaking his head. “Karen, she’s a pistol.”

Red snorted, but he must have breathed wrong; the sound turned into a wheezing cough that left him gasping and clutching at his side. He pulled off the mask to wipe at his watering eyes, breathing heavily.

“Cracked ribs are a bitch,” Frank sympathized.

“Yeah,” Red managed.

“That cough doesn’t sound great.”

Red shook his head, still trying to catch his breath. “Air went down wrong, that’s all.”

Well, as long as he wasn’t doing his parkour shit with bronchitis or pneumonia or whatever, though Frank wouldn’t put it past him. Frank had suggested that Red take a day off not too long ago when he’d been looking particularly rough, but of course, Altar Boy had gone all holier than thou and said, no, _people needed help_.

Fat lot of help he was being now. He needed to pace himself or work with somebody. He needed somebody to watch his back.

_I could do it._

But before Frank could examine that thought too closely, there was a knock on the door, and Madi’s cheerful, “Room service.”

Frank gave Red a second to pull on his mask, then called, “Come in.”

Madi breezed in with another takeout container, then approached Red a little hesitantly, as if she wasn’t sure how to give the food to him. “I heated them up for you.” She shot a quick, scornful glance toward Frank’s hot plate.

“It does the job,” he muttered, and Madi grinned.

“Thanks,” Red replied. He seemed to guess at the problem - probably not the first time he’d encountered it - and held out a hand. “It smells great.”

Well, Frank would have to disagree there, but he wasn’t going to argue if it got Red to eat. He watched as Red opened the container, then smiled as Madi added, “I’ve got a spoon here.”

He took it and then took a careful bite. “Mm. Just like I remember.”

“That a good thing?” Frank couldn’t help but ask.

Red nodded. And, hey, he was eating. Frank smiled over at Madi. “Thanks, kid. Everything okay at the restaurant?”

Madi nodded as she perched on the edge of Frank’s kitchen chair. “Papi said he can send up dinner, too. Just let me know what you want.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Frank replied. “I can -” He noticed the challenging look that Madi was giving him, and he smiled.

“Just say thank you, Frank,” Red prompted.

Frank rolled his eyes, not that Red could see, and replied, “Thank you.”

Red set aside the takeout container, which Frank was both pleased and disturbed to note had been scraped clean.

“Want some more?” Madi asked.

“Not just now, thanks. Tell me about yourself. You work at the restaurant down the street?”

“Yeah, it’s my papi’s.”

Frank didn’t intend to close his eyes, but it just kind of happened. He settled back in the chair and let the conversation wash over him, listening to Madi tell some story about a funny customer. When they shifted into Spanish, he let his focus drift to how the rest of the day might go. Red would want to leave; should Frank let him? Curtis had stitched him up, and maybe he would remember to take the pills. But how would he even get back to his place? Could he even walk?

Frank should get him to stay, but did he want to put up with the inevitable bitching?

Would that be worse than having to worry if Red was okay?

Fuck.

Oh, they’d switched back to English.

“Daredevil went to Columbia?” Madi said, clearly trying not to laugh.

“Well, it was before I put on the mask,” Red replied. “But, yeah. Great school.”

“Yeah,” Madi agreed, and there was something about her tone that caught Frank’s attention.

“You finished up high school in May, right?” Frank vaguely remembered a party at the restaurant, Mando beaming with pride.

“Yeah.” Her tone had gone flat, and Red tipped his head to one side.

“Got plans for the fall?”

“Going to move in with my tía and save up, maybe go to community college in the spring.” Red nodded and made vaguely approving noises, and Madi got to her feet. “I’ve got to go. Call down to the restaurant when you want dinner.” She was out the door before either of them had managed a farewell.

“Huh,” said Frank.

“Yeah. Wonder what that was about?”

Frank shrugged, then said, “Dunno. Teenagers. You want more, uh, Spaghettios? They might have them at the bodega.”

“I’m good, but thanks.” In fact, Red looked like chatting with the kid had worn him out, but of course, he said, “I can head out now.”

Frank leaned back in his chair. “Go ahead.” He hoped this wasn’t going to blow up in his face.

“What?”

“Go ahead. Walk on home. Hell, walk to the door. If you stand up, it’ll be right in front of you.”

Red tried to sit up, then fell back against the pillows. “I -”

_Need help,_ Frank thought, but of course Red wasn’t going to say that. No, he was just sitting there and looking exhausted and pissed off that he was exhausted. God forbid he be an actual human being.

“Look,” Frank said; Red’s lips curved upward despite his annoyance and Frank corrected, irritated, “_Listen_. You can stay here as long as you need. Get some rest. But if you can’t walk across my apartment, I’m not helping you leave.”

Red sighed. He pulled off the mask and closed his eyes. “Fine.”

“You’re welcome.”

Red didn’t say anything, but he smiled again.

Frank watched him until he was pretty sure Red was out - not that he could make it out of bed anyway - then let his eyes close.

It seemed like he’d only been asleep for a few minutes when he was awoken by a woman’s robotic voice announcing, “Maggie. Maggie. Maggie.”

What the fuck? Oh. Red’s phone, and he was so far gone that he didn’t hear it. Frank reached to refuse the call, but in his haste to avoid waking Red, he fumbled it.

Shit. Shit. There was a woman’s voice on the other end, presumably Maggie. “Matthew? Matthew, hello?”

Frank cleared his throat then said, trying to sound alert, “Sorry, but he can’t come to the phone right now.”

There was a pause that felt significant and then Maggie, whoever she was, spoke. “Who are you and why do you have my - Matthew’s phone? Why didn’t he answer?”

“I’m, uh, a friend of his, and he’s sleeping.”

“At one o’clock on a Sunday afternoon?”

“Ma’am, if you know Re- Mur- uh Matt. Matthew.” Shit, he couldn’t even manage Red’s name without sounding like a grade A moron. “Um. Then you know he can keep kind of weird hours.”

Maggie sounded a little mollified as she said, “He can. But he was supposed to be at mass. He usually manages that, no matter how late he’s out, and I thought -” And now she sounded suspicious. “And you don’t exactly sound awake, either. You keep irregular hours, too… what did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t.”

A hint of exasperation colored her voice. “What is your name?”

“Frank.” It slipped out before he thought about it. Shit. 

“Frank?” She sounded pleased in a way that made Frank concerned. She knew him? How?

“Yeah.”

“Did you finally come around? Is that why he’s asleep and you sound so tired? Well, it’s about time. I thought he’d never say something to you.”

_Wait, what?_

“Excuse me?”

There was silence from the other end of the line. “Oh,” Maggie said, after what seemed like four years. “Apparently not. Well, nice chatting with you, Frank. Maybe sometime we can -”

“Don’t hang up.” Frank spoke through clenched teeth. “What do you mean by _finally come around_?”

She sighed. “Look. This is a talk you should be having with Matthew. It’s really not my place to -”

“Well, he’s passed out in my bed right now and I don’t feel like waiting.”

“In your bed?” Maggie asked, her voice amused. “And you still need me to explain things to you?”

“No, it’s not - it’s not like that.”

But wasn’t it? A little bit? Red was - not comfortable, no, but Frank had come to enjoy being around him, even when he was being a little shit.

“If you say so.” Maggie seemed unconvinced. “But if it’s not like that, why is he in your bed?”

Shit. Who was this Maggie? Did she know about Red’s vigilante activities? Then, for once, the perfect answer came to Frank at the right time, not twenty minutes after the conversation had ended. “I think,” he said piously, “that’s a conversation you should have with Matthew.”

He glanced over at Red at the mention of his name and - Frank’s heart stuttered - his eyes were open.

“Who is it?” Red asked.

“Uh, Maggie.”

Red grimaced and nodded. He extended a hand and Frank said, “Here he is,” before handing over the phone.

“Hi,” said Red. “Yeah. No, sorry. I’m fine.” His head turned in Frank’s direction. “You did? Hm. Okay. I’ll see you soon.” He ended the call and fumbled the phone onto the little bedside table, then closed his eyes. “So.” He was living up to his nickname; his face had gone an entertaining shade of red, though maybe that had started while he was talking to Maggie.

Frank waited. When Red didn’t say anything, he prompted, “Yeah?”

“That was my mother.”

“What? I didn’t know you had a mother.”

“Everybody has a mother, Frank. I thought you knew how it worked.”

“You know what I mean.” He thought but did not say, _You little shit._ He knew Red was distracting him from _finally come around,_ but the bitch of it was that it was working. Frank knew about Red’s dad, of course; everybody in the Kitchen remembered Battlin’ Jack Murdock. But as far as Frank had heard, it had only ever been Red and his dad.

“Yeah, I do. Maggie, she’s… I just found out about her not too long ago.”

“Said she missed you at mass.”

Red took in a deep breath and let it out. “She told me that, yeah. I guess I’m not used to…”

“Someone giving a shit? Come on, we both know that’s not true. Nelson would walk through fire for you.”

That sparked a small smile and a nod of acknowledgment from Red. “Yeah, but Foggy’s a friend. I’m accountable to him, sure, but in a different way.”

Frank shrugged. “Parents are different, yeah, but is she? A parent, I mean. If you just found out about her…”

“I don’t know,” Red admitted. “We’re still kind of figuring stuff out.”

“But she patches you up,” Frank realized. “You said she’d call you an idiot - which is still accurate, by the way - but that she’d help. So she knows about what you do?”

“Yeah.”

“And she doesn’t, I don’t know, judge?” Frank wouldn’t want his kid doing what Red did, what he did. Not that that was an issue.

Red seemed to find that funny. “Maybe she does, but she knows I answer to someone higher.”

His grandma? Oh, wait. “So she’s religious, too? Well, mass, I guess so.”

Red nodded. “Uh, yeah. She’s a nun.”

Frank took a moment to turn that over in his head. His mother was a nun. “Huh. Well, that makes sense.”

“That seems to be the standard reaction.”

Well, of course, it was. Red, the son of a boxer and a nun? It made so much sense that Frank almost laughed.

Red, though, was starting to look uncomfortable.

“Hey, if it’s a secret, I won’t tell. Who would I tell, anyway? Guess Karen already knows.”

Red nodded, his expression a little rueful. “Yeah, and Foggy. No, that’s not it. I just… you have a bathroom, right?”

“My place isn’t that shitty.” Frank considered Red and then the distance to his bathroom. It wasn’t far, but he knew Red would never ask for help. “I’ll get you there, but then you’re on your own.” Thinking ahead for once, he also grabbed a pair of sweatpants. “Put these on, while you’re at it. I can stick the ones you’re wearing on the fire escape to air out.”

Red nodded, and Frank leaned down to help Red get up. Red was a little shaky and he seemed like he wasn’t sure where to put his hands, but finally ended up with an arm around Frank.

Frank took his time getting Red to the bathroom. He told himself that he was taking it slow because of Red’s injury; it definitely wasn’t because of Red’s arm around him. Not at all. Once they got to the bathroom, Frank let Red know where everything was and closed the door. The room was small enough that Red would be able to reach everything from the toilet.

Frank grabbed Red’s shirt from the drawer and stuck it on the fire escape. It was in pieces, but Frank didn’t want to throw it away without asking Red. He turned back to look at his apartment; with Red in the bathroom, it felt like there was more room, maybe even a little empty. He kept an ear out for Red, but took the time to clean up a little: the takeout containers went in the trash and the old blanket went from his bed to the laundry bag.

Red called for him after a few minutes and Frank helped him back to the bed, then took his pants out to the fire escape.

Red didn’t bring up _finally come around_, and neither did Frank. That tightness in Frank’s chest, it was relief, right?

Sure it was.

Red couldn’t want anything more than - was it friendship? - whatever they already had, after all. Not with Frank. Maggie must have made a mistake. After all, she was a nun. What did nuns know about those kinds of feelings?

Relief.

That was it.

* * *

Red crashed not long after his trip to the facilities, and Frank found himself at loose ends. He’d planned on taking some time that afternoon to do recon for a job, but he didn’t want to leave Red alone. Who knew what he would have come home to. After deciding that his place was as clean as it was going to get without having to do things that would make noise, Frank took up his phone. Pretty sure it was a bad idea, he messaged Karen.

_Red talk to you?_

Karen didn’t reply immediately. And then when she did, there was the typing animation, and then it went away. Then it happened again until finally, Karen replied, _About what?_

So Frank was pretty sure she knew something but was being cagey about it, and it wasn’t like Frank was going to ask, _Does he like me?_ like some kid. Besides, he already knew that, of course, Red didn’t like him. Not like that, at least.

Frank went with, _He’s at my place_ and Karen’s typing animation did that thing again three times until Frank had pity on her and added, _Pulled him out of a dumpster and got my buddy to patch him up. He’ll be fine_

_Wait so he’s hurt???_

_He got shot. He’ll be fine. Tell Nelson_

Because Frank sure wasn’t going to be the one to do that.

Then, big surprise, his phone rang. It was on mute, so it didn’t wake Red; of course, it was Karen. Frank slipped out to the fire escape to answer it. Damn, it was hot out.

“Who shot him?”

“Hell if I know.” Though that was a good question, come to think of it. Frank should pay a visit to whoever had shot Red. Altar Boy didn’t need to know.

“But he’s okay?”

“He will be. He needs to rest.”

Karen made a derisive sound, and Frank couldn’t help but chuckle in response.

“I’ll tell Foggy so he’ll know not to expect Matt tomorrow, though he may well try to show up anyway, knowing Matt. And I’ll make sure Foggy doesn’t come banging on your door.”

“Ha. Thanks.”

“Do you need anything? Food?”

“Nah, we’re good. The diner down the street is apparently handling our meals, since it was their dumpster Red landed in.”

“Huh. Well, that’s one way to get free food. Is Matt, uh, staying at your place? Uh, indefinitely?”

“We haven’t really figured that out, but he can’t even go to the can on his own, let alone walk home.” Karen didn’t say anything, but she did it loudly. “What? Think I should try and get him back to his place?”

Frank didn’t really want that to happen, though. He told himself that it was because he didn’t trust Red to get the rest he needed.

And if that wasn’t it? So what. It didn’t matter. It’s not like anything was going to happen. Frank was messing with his own head. But Karen was talking, and he shoved his attention back to making sense of her words. “- can get him there, I can come and look after him. Or Foggy, or - well. There are other people who can help.”

Curious how she’d reply, Frank asked, “Like Maggie?”

There was another of those meaningful silences, and Karen asked, “He told you about Maggie?”

“Yeah, that she’s his mom. Red with a nun for a mom. Can’t beat that.”

“Oh.” He’d managed to surprise her. “Well. That’s good. Just let me know if Matt goes back to his place. We can help.”

“Will do. Thanks, Karen.”

“You’re welcome.”

Frank ended the call and climbed back in from the fire escape, carefully pulling the window closed.

Red’s eyes were open and they’d lost that glassy, feverish look. Good. "How’s Karen?” Frank wondered how much he’d heard, but didn’t really want to ask.

“Thinks you won’t rest like you need to. And she’ll tell Nelson what happened, so he’ll know you won’t be at work tomorrow.”

“Hey, I can go to work,” Red protested. “I’ve done it before.”

“Yeah, ’cause that’s a good reason: you didn’t fall on my face before, so you’ll see if that happens this time.” He paused, not sure whether to be annoyed or impressed. “Wait, you went back to work the day after you got _shot_?”

“I have a desk job. And like I told your friend, usually, it’s knives, not guns. Higher class of low-life this time.”

“Speaking of, who did this to you?”

Frank clearly hadn’t kept his tone casual enough. as Red shook his head, though he was smiling. “I don’t think I’d like what happened if I told you that.” Frank made a vague noise of acknowledgment, then Red changed subjects. “The girl from the diner, what’s her story?”

“She’s a good kid. Helps her dad out, good at school.” Lisa would have been like that, though Frank sure as hell wouldn’t have wanted her at his work.

“There was something about how she reacted when we were talking about Columbia that seemed weird. And then she left kind of suddenly.”

“Oh? Think she’s in trouble with, uh, a college?”

“Not that kind of weird. How’s her dad doing for money? Is her mom around?”

“Don’t know about the mom, never saw her. And, well, they do okay. Not great, but they get by. Like a lot of people around here.”

Red nodded, looking thoughtful. “She said her name was Magdalena. She Catholic?”

“Think so, yeah.”

“What’s her last name?”

“Ramírez, but why are you going all twenty questions about this kid?”

“I’m not sure. Just a feeling. But maybe I’ll call somebody at Columbia about her. See if something’s up.”

Frank shrugged. Red would do what he wanted. That was pretty much always the way. “Speaking of the kid, you hungry?” He managed to keep his tone even as he asked, “Want some more Spaghettios?”

“Maybe some oatmeal,” Red replied, though he sounded a little sheepish. “If they have it at the diner.”

“Pretty sure they do, but oatmeal?”

“More nostalgia food. My grandmother used to make it for me when I was a kid.”

Moms, grandmas, Frank was hearing about all kinds of family. He just nodded and tried not to think about _finally came around_, and called down to the diner.

“You be okay here if I go pick it up?” Red smiled and Frank added before he could say anything, “By which I mean you’re not going to pull any stupid shit.”

“Stupid shit? Me?” He kept up the innocent act for a moment before shaking his head and looking amused. “I will stay in bed.”

That, Frank figured, was just about as close to a promise of good behavior as he was going to get. “Okay. I’ll be back soon.”

He locked the door behind him, though he was pretty sure that wouldn’t stop Red if he was feeling really determined, then headed down the stairs and out of his building. The weather had cooled down a little, but Frank felt a storm in the air. Maybe it would help with the humidity, but not for long. Not this time of year.

He made his way down the street and into the diner, and there was Madi, all smiles again. “It’s not ready yet. Just a few minutes.”

Frank nodded and eased to a seat at the counter. Most of the tables were empty, and there was one other person at the counter.

“How’s, um?” Madi asked.

“He’ll be okay. He slept some, looking a bit better.”

“Good.” Madi grabbed a rag and started to clean the counter, then said, “He’s cute.”

Frank hmphed. “Too old for you.” Though _cute_ wasn’t the word he’d use, he didn’t disagree with the idea.

Madi shook her head and laughed; she sounded so much like Lisa that Frank instinctively looked up, but no. “No, you’re right. I didn’t mean… I just thought… I’ll bet he thinks you’re cute.”

Frank turned his gaze to Madi. “He’s blind.”

Madi grinned. “Okay, yeah, I guess I forgot. But he acts like he likes you.”

_What?_

Madi continued, oblivious, “Like he really seems like he’s _listening_, when you talk, really paying attention.” She must have caught on to how Frank was staring at her, and she faltered a little. “That’s good, though, right? That he likes you?” Frank didn’t say anything; he struggled to come up with a coherent thought, let alone words, and Madi continued, “I mean, I saw the way you jumped into the dumpster to get him, and the look on your face when you felt his pulse.”

“Um.”

“Wait, are you seriously telling me you don’t like him? Because you guys were basically acting like you were married, and I saw the way you were looking at him when he had his shirt off.”

“Hey,” Frank protested.

“What? _I’m_ not blind, but maybe you are, if you don’t see it. That guy obviously has a thing for you, and I was pretty sure you had a thing right back.”

“No,” Frank - was he actually stammering? Shit. “No _things_.”

“Nothing wrong with things,” Madi said, shrugging. “I mean, you’re both adults.”

“How do you even know about this?” Frank asked. Madi looked at him like he was dumb, and Frank held up a hand in a warding gesture. “Wait, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

“It’s not a big deal.” She was laughing at him now, and Frank imagined Lisa, teenaged Lisa getting ready to leave home and laughing at her clueless father and… shit.

“Hey, you okay?” The teasing had left Madi’s voice. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to give you a hard time.”

“I’m fine,” Frank replied, the words automatic by now. Madi arched an eyebrow that managed to convey whole worlds of teenaged skepticism, and Frank summoned a smile. “I am. Really. Food ready yet?” He fumbled for his wallet and Madi waved him away.

“Papi says it’s on the house. Oatmeal and a salad, not like they cost much. I’ll put some pie in, too. It’s good recovery food. It’s gone before you know you ate it.”

Frank smiled and said thanks, but when Madi turned to get the food, he stuck some cash in the tip jar. Kids always needed money, and what else was he going to spend it on?

Madi handed over the food and they said their farewells, and Frank thought about what she’d said as he made his way back to his place.

Could Red possibly be interested? In him? Like that?

Frank shoved the thought to the back of his head. With Maria, it had been a whirlwind; he’d just _known_. He’d never felt like that about anyone else, but he’d still had relationships. Kind of.

Depending on how you defined the word.

But first things first: get Red healed up. Then he could deal with whatever else happened.

He heard Red’s voice as he reached his door and stiffened, but there was a pause in his speech and nobody else answered. Frank eased open the door and relaxed when he saw that Red was on the phone.

“Yeah, Magdalena.” He looked over at the sound of Frank coming in. “What’s her last name again?”

“Ramírez,” Frank supplied, and Red passed that on as well.

“Yeah, she seems like a bright kid. Thanks, I’d appreciate it.” He set the phone aside, explaining, “Somebody I knew at Columbia works in admissions now. I thought maybe she applied, didn’t get in. Sometimes an alumni recommendation can help. He’ll let me know.”

“Good,” Frank replied, dishing out Red’s oatmeal and his salad. He set aside the pie for later. “You’re looking better,” he added, as he nudged Red’s hand with the oatmeal container. Frank wasn’t sure how Red could have perked up so much in the time he’d been gone, but he had better color and just seemed more energetic. Frank took a minute to wash his hands and looked over at the sharp scent of the hand sanitizer.

Red took a bite, maybe to delay his response. “Yeah, I meditated after you left. Not for long, but I guess enough to help.”

“Meditated, huh?” Frank asked, around bites of his salad. He didn’t really go for that sort of thing, but clearly something had happened.

“I can probably get back to my place if you want me to clear out.” Red seemed to have all his attention focused on his food, but come on, it was oatmeal. Eating it wasn’t that hard.

And what did Frank want, really? It was weird having someone else in his space when he’d been alone for so long, but it didn’t feel wrong, just different. Not even weird anymore, really.

“Nah, you don’t have to,” he replied, and he was pretty sure he didn’t imagine the way Red smiled just a little. That probably wasn’t about the oatmeal, either. Okay, it was kind of cute. Attractive. Hot. Whatever.

They both just focused on their food for a few minutes, though Frank snuck the occasional look over at Red before thinking, _Stupid, he’s blind,_ and just looked.

He looked like Red. Same hair, a little messy from the mask. Same face, more bruised than usual. But he was in Frank’s bed, wearing Frank’s clothes, and that was just -

Red lifted his head. “Everything okay?”

Was it? This was really more introspective than Frank tended to get. So, “Yeah.” Did Red look disappointed? Hell, Frank didn’t know. “How’s the oatmeal?”

“Not the same as my grandmother’s, but still good. You got a salad?”

“Yeah, I like green stuff, sue me.”

“Not worth the trouble,” Red quipped. “Not over something like dinner.”

Fucking lawyers. But Frank smiled and shook his head. “I guess you smelled the dressing or something.”

Red nodded as he set aside the empty takeout container. “And heard it. Carrots are crunchy.”

Frank, biting into a carrot at just that moment, nodded. “Want a drink?”

“Maybe later. Can you take me through your place, in case I need to get up and you’re asleep or something?”

“Yeah.” Frank set aside the rest of his salad and got up. “How do you want to…?”

But Red clearly had ideas. He sat all the way up, taking things slowly for a change, then got to his feet, much steadier than he had been earlier. He extended a hand, and Frank kind of nudged it with his arm; Red curled his hand into the crook of Frank’s arm, and Frank tried not to think about how he kind of liked it.

“Okay, it’s all one room, except for the bathroom, which you know. The fire escape is behind the bed, about at your five. You okay to walk?”

“Uh, yeah,” Red replied. He cleared his throat. “Fine.”

What was his problem? Frank moved forward, and Red kept up, no problem. “Kitchen’s in here. Fridge, hot plate, and so forth. No Spaghettios.”

That got a smile from Red. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Nope. Okay, chair and table here, and here’s the front door, two sets of locks. More comfortable chair here, and we’re back to the bed. You want to sit in the chair for a little?”

“Yeah.” Red eased to a seat, but he didn’t look too tired. Maybe the meditation thing wasn’t all bullshit. Frank moved to the kitchen chair, and Red frowned a little.

“Did you even need the tour?” Frank asked. “I mean, you’ve got your whole RedVision or whatever you want to call it, and it’s not like this place is that big.”

“I still don’t want to bump into a corner or something.” Red settled back in the chair, though he seemed a little uneasy. “So Maggie told me she, uh, said something to you.”

“We don’t need to talk about that.”

“… we don’t?”

“Nah. She got it wrong, I get it.”

“What?”

“Seemed like she thinks you…” But Frank couldn’t say it because why would Red feel that way about him? Why would anybody, especially someone who knew what Frank did? Frank was doing the right thing, he knew, but that didn’t mean other people agreed with him, especially people like Red.

Maria, she’d loved him, but that had been different. That had been _before_.

“Well. She’s right.”

_What?_

“Right about what, that you…?”

Liked him? Frank still couldn’t say it. Just thinking it made him feel like a dumb kid.

Red looked uncomfortable. “We just, we do well together.”

Oh. It wasn’t about liking, it was about fighting. That made more sense. “I guess we do. That thing we did last week, that was a good job.” Sure, Red had knocked out a guy that Frank would have preferred to see dead, but that was nothing new.

“No, I didn’t mean -” Red hesitated.

“Don’t sell yourself short; you pulled your weight.” Frank headed into the kitchen. “Want a drink?” It was good to stay hydrated after an injury.

Red sighed, though Frank didn’t know what he had to sound so mopey about. “Beer?”

“Water.”

Frank took his time cracking the ice out of the tray and dividing it into his two glasses, then filling them with water. When he turned back, Red was still sitting there, same as when he’d left. “What? You really want a beer that bad?”

“No. Well, yes, but no.” He took the glass when Frank rattled the ice near him but held it rather than drinking. After a moment, he took a deep breath and set the glass on the table and got to his feet, moving to stand before Frank.

Well, he was walking okay, which was good, but what really caught Frank’s attention was Red’s expression: wary and nervous but determined.

“Shouldn’t you be sitting down?”

“No. Talking obviously isn’t going to do it.”

“Do what?” Frank asked. “Seems like you can talk your way around anything.”

“Yeah,” Red agreed, with another of those small smiles that Frank liked. “Anything but you.” He moved closer, then, until he was all that Frank could see. “You’re more action than words. Hands-on.” He went slowly as he came in closer, clearly ready to back off if Frank wanted.

Frank didn’t want him to back off. He met Red the last few inches, his hands automatically going to Red’s neck and grabbing hold of his hair.

It was different than kissing Maria, but it wasn’t like Red was the first guy Frank had ever kissed. There was stubble and strength and a bit of teeth, ending in a gasp from Red.

“See?” Frank asked, easing back just a little. “Better than talking, yeah?”

He could see Red _wanting_ to talk: to explain, to define, to clarify; so Frank kissed him again, harder, and was gratified when Red went a little weak at the knees. “Still recovering,” he said, easing Red back to the chair.

“You’re just that good,” Red quipped, and Frank wasn’t sure if he was kidding or not. Red still had that wanting-to-talk look. Lawyers.

“Okay,” Frank allowed. “What. Is this _where do we go from here?_”

Red’s head turned a little, toward the bed, and Frank thought, _Seriously?_

Not that he was opposed to beds and bed-related activities, but if just kissing had made Red need to sit down, they should probably hold off.

“Let’s just figure it out as we go,” Frank suggested, and Red seemed to relax a little.

“So there’s an _it_ to figure out?”

Shit, getting kissed like that and Red still needed to ask? Frank leaned down and kissed him again. He had meant it to be gentle, but Red clearly had no intention of keeping it that way. He stood to meet Frank, his hands fumbling with Frank’s shirt, and Frank was starting to rethink the whole _hold off_ strategy when Red pulled away.

“Frank, what the hell?”

“What?”

Frank knew what. Red’s hands had brushed the gauze pad he’d taped to his side the previous night.

“What happened?”

“Guy had a knife. He surprised me.”

“When?”

“Last night. It’s nothing.”

“You should’ve -”

“What, called you for backup? You were getting ready to take a nap in a dumpster. Maybe you should’ve called _me_.”

“But you were acting like nothing was wrong.”

“Because nothing’s wrong. I’m fine.” Throw Red’s catchphrase back at him, see how he liked it.

“_Frank_.”

“What? He barely touched me.”

“Let me see.”

“You’re blind.”

Red made a face and reached for Frank, who held still as Red eased off the gauze and then ran careful fingers along the slash on his side.

“It’s fine. Didn’t even need stitches.” Frank couldn’t help but smirk as he added, “_See_?”

“Yeah,” Red agreed, his voice a little hoarse, his hands not entirely steady as they moved to Frank’s abdomen. He pushed Frank back one step and then another until the backs of his knees bumped against the bed.

“What are you doing?” Frank asked, his voice quiet. He knew, though. “You’re hurt.”

Red grinned a cocky little smile that made Frank want to shake him or maybe just hide him away from all the shit in the world. Like Red would let him do that. “If we wait until I’m not hurt, it could be a while.” He leaned in to kiss Frank once more, his hands slipping around and running along Frank’s spine.

“Could be motivation,” Frank mumbled against Red’s mouth. “If that’s what it took to get you to wear body armor…”

Frank felt Red’s laughter more than heard it. “Bribery?”

Frank smiled. “Nah. You’ll do what you want.”

Red pushed against his chest and Frank could have remained upright, but he found he didn’t want to, and let Red topple him to the bed.

“Yeah,” Red agreed, standing over him with another of those cocky smiles. “I will.”

* * *

Red did what he wanted which, as it turned out, was also what Frank wanted. They went slowly and carefully at first, each learning what the other liked; there was the awkwardness of a first time with someone new, but they eventually found their way.

And Frank realized that he had found a highly effective way to get Red to be quiet. He seemed to have drifted into a doze, sprawled against Frank in a way that he found he liked.

Just when he thought maybe Red was out for the night, he startled awake, then eased back against Frank with a soft exhalation that sounded relieved. “You’re still here.”

“Where would I go?” Frank asked, not without a soft chuckle. He ran a hand along Red’s side. “Pop any stitches?”

“Don’t think so. Not for lack of trying, though.” Red shifted back and stretched, and Frank the spot where he’d been felt cool now, despite the warmth of the apartment. “How big is your shower?”

Frank grinned. “Big enough, but we’re going to have to cover those stitches.” They managed, though, with plastic wrap and tape; then, thank goodness, they both were clean and any remaining ick from the dumpster had gone down Frank’s drain.

“I’m starving,” Red admitted, once he had settled back in the comfortable chair.

“Spaghettios and oatmeal don’t cut it, huh?”

“Not after a workout like that.”

“Ha. Well, we’ve got pie and, uh, whatever is in my fridge. Haven’t had time for groceries lately.”

Red’s face went a little odd at the mention of pie, and Frank thought, _Here it comes, the Catholic guilt._ Though why it would have been triggered by pie, of all things…

“No, thanks.”

“What, now you’re not hungry?” Frank got out the pie anyway; _he_ was hungry. And he brought over the second piece just in case Red got over whatever it was. He wasn’t sharing his slice.

“No, I am.” At least he was admitting it. “There’s just… there was a thing with pie and me. And Elektra.”

Oh. “And now you feel guilty?”

Red’s face went a little wry. “Always. It’s the Catholicism.”

Frank forked some of the pie into his mouth and couldn’t keep back a quiet “Mmm.” It was good. Blueberries and… other stuff. Frank wasn’t a baker. “You think she’d have minded what we did?”

“She wouldn’t mind. We were never… we loved each other, sometimes, but she wasn’t like that. Not possessive. We weren’t exclusive. We didn’t get -” He shook his head.

Frank guessed at what he didn’t say. “You didn’t get the chance, and that sucks. But if she wouldn’t have been upset, why not eat the pie?” Because otherwise Frank was going to; it was that good.

Red hesitated and then reached for the pie. “Blueberry?”

“Yeah.”

Red took a bite. “It’s good.”

Frank thought maybe he wasn’t just talking about the pie. “Yeah, it is.”

And it was. Whatever _it_ was.

* * *

Nobody said anything when Frank and Red started eating at Mando Ramírez’s restaurant the next week. Frank had been going there all along; there were some knowing looks and smiles when the other regulars noticed Red, but no commentary.

Madi, in particular, looked long and hard at Red then lifted her eyebrows at Frank, but didn’t say anything when he just smiled in response. It didn’t take long until Red was just another regular.

Frank never knew afterward if Red planned the timing of one particular meal, though he had his suspicions. Red had gotten out of court early and for once had come to see Frank instead of going back to work, then insisted that he needed a taco. Frank had gone along with it.

“What is it?” he asked when Red looked over as the restaurant’s door opened. “Expecting somebody?” Karen already knew that he and Red were whatever they were, though Frank kind of wanted to be there when Nelson found out, if he hadn’t already.

Red just smiled and went back to his taco, but he still looked over again the next time the door opened.

Frank didn’t ask again. If Red wanted him to know, he’d tell him. But he found himself looking over when the door opened, too, even though he didn’t know why. Two more customers came in, and then the mail carrier, who handed Mando a stack of letters. He sighed as he sorted through them, then called, “Madi, something for you.”

Red leaned forward, smiling, and Frank turned to pay attention. Madi finished up with her table and then came over to take the letter.

Frank leaned in to murmur to Red, “What did you do?”

“Me?” Red replied, with a show of innocence. He tipped his head toward Madi, asking, “Is she reading it?”

Frank started to reply, but Madi’s shriek interrupted him. She whirled her confused father in a circle, and Frank’s minimal Spanish was definitely not good enough to follow her torrent of words.

“What’s she saying?”

“Sounds like she got a full ride to Columbia. Tuition, room and board, and a stipend for books.”

Frank turned to study Red’s pleased expression. “You did that, didn’t you?”

“Me? Where would I get that kind of money.”

“I don’t know, but you did it.”

Red just smiled. “People who want to stay in the city should get to stay in the city,” he replied, with a shrug.

* * *

Madi Ramírez all but danced out to the alley behind the restaurant, swinging a garbage bag in each hand. She could _stay_, thanks to the Danny Rand Scholarship. Even money for books, so she could focus on school. She skipped to the dumpster and put down the trash to open it, then peeked in.

No person inside. Good. Madi lifted the trash and heaved it into the dumpster, then turned to look down the alley. There they were, crossing the alley on their way wherever they were going: Matt and Frank, Daredevil and the Punisher.

As she watched, Matt reached up to take Frank’s arm, and Frank smiled down at Matt.

They were cute, though Madi bet they would deny it if she told them so. She was glad they’d found each other.

And she’d keep their secrets. It it made her smile to see them: Daredevil and the Punisher, together. Who would have thought?

They looked happy, and Madi was glad.


End file.
